


Ordinary

by dustyfluorescent



Series: Not Holding Your Hand [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyfluorescent/pseuds/dustyfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is going on in Merlin's life that isn't completely ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary

_it's not gonna matter what you chose  
it's too late when everything goes dark_

Not a day goes by that Gwaine doesn't think about Merlin.

He's sitting in the Uni cafeteria with Gwen, and pretending to drink coffee. They're talking about Merlin, and he really just doesn't want to be having that conversation. It's a necessary one, he can't deny it, but quite frankly, if he only could, he would just rather forget all about it. He's staring at his almost full cup of cold coffee, refusing to look up and meet Gwen's eyes, because he's pretty sure she's got his feelings all figured out by now, and he doesn't want to see her pity. Or anything else she might have to offer, for that matter. This is about him, and he has the right to keep those feelings his and his alone.

"I know something is wrong," Gwaine mutters, and clears his throat. "Merlin obviously won't say anything, because he's a stubborn idiot, but I know him, and I know you do, too, and surely you must've noticed that something's just... I don't know. Off."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Gwen says quietly. "And I just... I don't know what to do about it. He's very passionate when it comes to feelings. There's no talking sense to him. He never admits that anything is wrong until everything goes to shit. And then... Well, I don't know. I'm usually there just to pick up the pieces."

"Yeah," Gwaine sighs, and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. That stupid, stubborn, suicidal fuck. Merlin has no sense of survival. Gwaine feels defeated. He feels crushed. He really wishes he could just _not care_.

"Gwaine."

"What?"

"I'm sorry about all this. I mean, that things are like this. For you. It must be even harder - and what I mean is just... That it's not fair."

Gwaine throws Gwen a sideways glance. They haven't talked about it. He doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't know what to say, and so they have pretended there's nothing to talk about. Apparently, for one reason or another, she's decided that she is done with that. Gwaine decides it's just as well. She knows, and he can admit it, now. But he still doesn't want to have any kind of conversation on that topic.

"So is life," he says, and tries his best to sound like he doesn't care. He fails.

The whole situation is fucked up to the extreme. Merlin claims to be in love, happier than he's been in ages, and Gwaine believes him. He seems that way, there's no reason to doubt his words. That doesn't necessarily mean everything is fine. Gwaine knows as much, and something's off, he can tell.

Merlin has changed. The way he sees the world is different from what Gwaine is used to. Merlin, to him, has always seemed like he's constantly on edge, constantly watching his back, never quite trusting anybody to be what they seem. But it's got worse. It's almost as if, until now, he's been remembering something - or rather, not been able to forget - and that recently, he's been very vividly reminded.

Gwaine knows what he's looking at. The way Merlin is now reminds him of his five-year-old self, and to the extent that it's almost painful. He didn't get rid of that feeling for years, not until his dad was long gone; the feeling that he was never perfectly safe, and that he could never trust anyone to not let him down.

When someone you love hurts you and betrays your trust, it leaves a mark. If you know where to look, it's easy to see, no matter how well the bruises are hidden. Gwaine has a very good idea about who it might be that's causing Merlin to act the way he does.

***

Merlin is fine. That's what he tells everyone who asks him, at least, and also some people who don't (because they don't _have_ to, bloody Gwen just needs to look at him with her world-famous "I'm worried" look on her face, and he fees guilty). And he _is_ fine, really. It's not his fault that his friends lack perspective! Most of them haven't even known him for that long, and he's pretty sure they don't know much anything about him. He's a moderately private person. He definitely doesn't like flaunting his issues in public; some things, he doesn't even talk about with his best friends. Gwen always worries too much. Will doesn't really count. Merlin might still, on some level, consider him a friend, but he isn't around, and probably has no idea what's been going on in Merlin's life ever since they broke up (and Merlin is trying very hard to keep the bitterness out of that though). And Gwaine... Well, Gwaine is biased, Gwaine is in love with him. Merlin doesn't want to think about that.

But he really is absolutely fine. Nothing is going on in his life that isn't completely ordinary - okay, maybe not ordinary in the conventional sense of the word, but nothing that's particularly surprising to him, at least. He can cope with sleepless nights, he can survive panic attacks, and it's not like he's never been beaten before. Things happen, and he's been worse, a lot worse. Whoring out to his boyfriend's mates to get drugs. Ending up in the hospital for overdosing - twice. Drinking for two weeks straight just because he couldn't bear to stop. Stealing food, fags and booze, and not just for himself - he was obviously the best at that sort of thing, so it was always his turn (and the only reason the others never found out about his magic is that none of them were ever sober enough to care). He's smuggled drugs, he's lied and cheated, he's fucked a police to help his friend out of trouble. He's nearly killed a man with some very reckless and irresponsible magic use, only to save himself - although no-one's ever found out about that, and no-one ever will. Compared to all that, Arthur is a bloody dream-come-true.

(Really, he doesn't want to think about any of that stuff. He has put it all behind him. But it's still there, and sometimes it just comes back, and maybe it's just to remind that his existence is actually fairly tolerable right now, but whatever the reason, he doesn't want that. He wants to be left in peace. It must be because of the magic, he sometimes thinks; the vivid dreams, the resilient memories, the _never forgetting, not ever, not for a second_.)

The point is that his life has been shitty sometimes, and that all things considered, he's fine now. He's got friends who care about him, a nice job, a boyfriend who loves him, and his studies are going alright. Nothing to worry about, really.

He can say that. It doesn't make everything perfect. But he won't say Gwen anything about it, because she's already worried. And when it comes to Gwaine, Merlin thinks he's hurting him enough as it is. So, no. As long as he has a choice, he's not going to whine about it. As long as he can manage, he doesn't want to bother his friends with it. It's not like he could blame this on anyone else, anyway.

But it's three months into their newly rekindled relationship, when it becomes obvious that Merlin simply can't bear it anymore. He's not been able to sleep practically at all for two weeks. Arthur has complained about it five times, and thrown a fit about him being a dramatic idiot twice. Merlin goes to see a doctor. He lies about stress with work and studies, mentions a bad break-up (but not the reunion), and then decides to truthfully tell that when he can sleep, there are nightmares. He leaves with a prescription for sleeping pills. The doctor frowns and tells him to get help. Merlin ignores her. He just smiles and tells her that nothing is wrong.

"I'm going away for a bit," Merlin tells Arthur one morning.

Arthur is hiding behind a coffee cup and reading the morning paper. Merlin looks at him and thinks about how it isn't really even that big a lie. He's planning on staying at Gwen's and avoiding Arthur until his pills (that are worryingly high on possible side effects) start working properly. He's a bit too worried about the possibility of Arthur wanting to make sure he's telling the truth and finding him at work or Uni, but he's willing to take the risk. Rather that than having Arthur around when Merlin's exhausted, sleepy, uncoordinated, cranky, and short-tempered. _Unable to control his magic well enough to keep it hidden_. That would mean he'd be even more annoying than usually, at least in Arthur's opinion, and that he wouldn't have the energy to fight back if things were to get ugly (other than shout abuse and curse like a sailor, and that hardly counts as fighting back, because it usually only results in more damage).

He might end up doing magic by accident. His body might think it has no choice. And that would be bad. He can't afford that.

Arthur looks at Merlin, and raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah? Where are you going?" He sounds curious, not threatening. That's good. The anxious knot inside Merlin loosens a little, but he takes a bite of his toast to avoid answering. He's good at lying, but it doesn't mean he likes it. This is not a good idea, he thinks, and also _of course he will find out, he's not stupid, he hardly trusts you_. Merlin pushes the thought away, swallows, and shrugs.

"No big deal," he says. "Just going to visit my mum in Ealdor."

"She all right?"

"Fine."

Merlin tells himself he doesn't want Arthur to find out, but he's not quite sure if that's true. Not important, he tells himself. He just needs a getaway, a little break, and he can't be bothered to make a big deal about it. It's not like he's intentionally making it as easy as possible for Arthur to realise he's lying. It's not like he's trying to annoy him. That would be really stupid.

"Okay, fine. How long will you be gone, then?"

Merlin bites his lip.

"Dunno. Maybe a week or so. I might stay a bit longer, though."

"Right," Arthur says and finishes his coffee. "I'll miss you."

"I bet you will," Merlin mutters.

"Don't be a twat, Merlin."

Merlin flashes Arthur a disarming grin. "Me?"

Arthur laughs, gets up and gives Merlin a kiss.

"Gotta run," he says. "I'm already late."

"Right," Merlin mutters and lifts his hand in greeting.

When he hears the door close after Arthur, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Stupid, maybe, but it's done, now. And he really might need this, even if it's just the few days before Arthur catches his lie.

Merlin gets up, yawning, and grabs his bag. He has a lecture in twenty minutes. He hasn't slept at all. Instead, he's just lain in bed next to Arthur, wide awake all through the night, watching him sleep, stroking his arm, unable to calm down. He isn't scared. He isn't damaged. But something keeps him from sleeping.

He wakes up at the end of his lecture, realising he has no idea what the professor has been talking about. Vivian shoots him a worried look, but he just ignores it, thinking about how he really needs to start taking those pills right fucking now.

***

Merlin leaves Saturday night. He hasn't told Arthur anything about his plans after mentioning his trip briefly the day before, and then, suddenly, he's just gone. All Arthur gets is a text.

 _on the train now, c u later xx_

Arthur frowns, annoyed. He doesn't text back, and tries not to think about the whole situation very much. He gets drunk that night, and watches shitty action movies until he loses interest. Then he decides to go out, and finds himself at a slightly questionable gay club he's grown familiar with over the years. He ends up drowning shots at the bar with people he doesn't know, and fucking some random twink in the backseat of his car. He's not home until 5 am, but that's fine. It's not like he needs to do anything useful on Sundays, anyway.

The hangover is the worst one he's ever had. For the first two or three hours, he can't even bear to think about pizza without feeling sick, and that worries him slightly. He kind of misses Merlin, kind of feels dirty about the whole random bloke in a car situation. He kind of just wants Merlin to come back home.

In the end, it's an accident, really.

It's a completely ordinary Tuesday afternoon, and Arthur is driving back home from work. He's just listening to the radio and waiting for the lights to change, when he absently realises that he's actually pretty close to the pub where Merlin works. He feels lonely, and decides that he might as well drop by for a second. He parks his car nearby. Just a glass of Coke, for company, for comfort. The Dragon's Nest is a nice place, and the pub's got the same kind of honest familiarity about it as Merlin does. People know Arthur there, even if none of them are anything more to him but a familiar face in a pub, but that's quite enough. He's English, for goodness' sakes, and he's a Pendragon. He's been bred and raised to manage prefectly well on his own. He doesn't need an army of prying aunties shadowing his every step to manage. Smiling a little, Arthur steps in through the door, and stumbles right back out again before anyone has the time to notice he's even been there. After standing very still for a few seconds, breathless, he starts running away, not bothering to spare a single thought for his poor car.

Merlin's there. Arthur doesn't see his face, and only a glimpse of the rest of him, but he's sure. The way he stands, leaning against the bar. The arch of his neck, the fine, pale skin. Dark, reckless hair, grown a bit too long, but Merlin is too big an idiot to notice, and Arthur won't say anything because he secretly likes it. The way he waves his hands around when he talks. The ears. The bloody ears.

At first, Arthur's just astonished. Then he feels lonely, betrayed. A bit guilty. Really guilty, actually, because although he doesn't really know what this is all about, he's got a pretty good guess that it has to do with him being the shittiest boyfriend in all of creation.

He feels lonely and betrayed. He knows he shouldn't be alone right now because this could get messy, but who does he have to talk to? The answer is nobody, and he doesn't even need to think about it for very long. He ends up calling Morgana, who just mocks him and tells him he had it coming for being so horrible to Merlin (which he, undeniably, has been). He thinks about Leon, but dismisses the idea almost immediately. Leon wouldn't care. Leon is on Merlin's side now, and furthermore, has no reason to feel sorry for Arthur. Arthur won't blame him. He has no right.

The truth is, Merlin is his only friend. Was. Is. Arthur has no idea what he should think about this whole situation at hand. About anything at all, actually.

Arthur buys cheap wine from Sainsbury's on his way home, because that's apparently how he deals with his wounded emotions these days, by drinking, but he doesn't care. He's miserable and just wants to get all of this out of his system. Why would Merlin tell him he's going out of town? Why wouldn't he just tell the truth? Where is he staying, now? What the fuck is going on? And very quickly, _where is he staying_ turns into _who is he fucking_ and Arthur feels the anger and unbearable jealousy take over all his other emotions with a violent lurch.

Fuck Merlin for lying. Fuck him to hell for cheating. That cocky bastard can't be trusted, Arthur should have known. He turns around and starts walking back towards the pub. Nobody fucks with Arthur Pendragon. That's obviously something that Merlin still needs to be taught.

***

It's an ordinary Tuesday morning. By then, Merlin's already forgotten that he even has anything to worry about, because everything has been going so smoothly. He wakes up at Gwen's place after a good night's sleep (and gods, it feels so _wonderful_ ), and makes pancakes. He finally finishes a paper he's been trying to work on for weeks. He doesn't have Uni, so he has enough time to stop by at his flat and get a few books he needs. He has work, though, so when he realises he's left his bag home (how is it even _possible_ to be that stupid, he thinks to himself), it's too late for him to go and get it.

It's a relatively quiet night at the pub. It involves a lot of sitting around and chatting with the regulars, which is kind of nice. Merlin is in a brilliant mood. His meds have been working fine, and his little Arthur Holiday has been a success thus far. He should probably be worried about how much it eases his mind that Arthur has no idea where he is, but he doesn't want to think about that. He'll have time to worry about their twisted relationship later.

Turns out he's wrong.

It's 8.22 pm, when Arthur steps in through the door. For a second, Merlin is sure his heart has stopped beating, and he doesn't even really care about that, because he's as good as dead now, anyway. He's suddenly feeling very, very cold.

"Well," Arthur says, his tone mocking. He's drunk, Merlin can tell, even though he seems completely coordinated. "I never really found out where exactly Ealdor is, but I always thought you were Welsh. I certainly never anticipated it to be quite this close."

Merlin tries to remember why he had thought this would be a good idea. He had _known_ he would get caught, because Arthur is not stupid, and Merlin hadn't even tried to cover up his tracks properly. A game. A stupid game. Stupid Merlin. Game over, game lost.

"Arthur. I'm working. Get lost," Merlin says. He doesn't sound as mortified as he feels. That's good.

"I don't give a fuck about your work," Arthur growls. "You're coming with me."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Do you think I give a fuck about whether all these people hear what I have to say to you? If you really fancy it, we can just deal with this here."

"Right, fine," Merlin mutters. _Don't say fine_ , his sense is telling him, _don't go, don't leave_. But he does. Arthur isn't one to throw empty threats around. He would, Merlin knows that. Right now, Arthur is so mad that Merlin can't really even see the man he loves underneath.

Merlin gives Freya a look, maybe it's an apology or something else, he isn't sure. She nods and bites her lip, looking away. Merlin gets his coat and follows Arthur to his car, his own agitated heartbeat ringing in his ears, deafening.

"I'm not letting you drive, you've been drinking."

"Shut it and get in the bloody car."

And he does.

Merlin's throat is dry, his palms sweaty. It's a ten-minute drive to Arthur's place, and neither of them says a thing. They don't even look at each other. The air between them is heavy with accusations, blame, guilt, betrayal. Anger. Rage. Panic. Merlin wants to disappear.

When Arthur's front door clicks shut behind Merlin, he let's out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes in a prayer. Just for a second. _Spare me_. He meets Arthur's burning gaze.

"Explain yourself," Arthur says. His voice is cold, but Merlin can sense a ting of hurt there, somewhere. He has nothing to say in his defense. He can think of nothing at all that wouldn't just make this worse. He shrugs.

"I needed my own space," he says.

Wrong.

"I'm sure _that's_ true," Arthur scoffs. "It's not like I have any reason to believe you'd ever _lie_ to me."

"Arthur, sorry, I-"

"Fuck your sorry!" Arthur yells, and throws a shoe at Merlin, who dodges. He's worried, now. Arthur is furious. This can't be good. "Who are you sleeping with?"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone, you prat! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Shut the FUCK UP!"

And there goes the hideous vase Arthur got from his aunt. He loves it, for some bloody inexplicable reason. Merlin ducks, the vase crashes against the wall behind him, and then it's raining bits of glass. Merlin gets distracted, and Arthur knocks him down on the floor before he even really notices it's happening, or much less has enough time to do anything about it. There are shards of glass digging into his skin, and the next thing he knows is Arthur, crying, cursing and screaming and not really breathing, kicking Merlin wherever he can reach. Merlin tries to concentrate, build up defenses of some sort, just gather his magic to keep Arthur away, that's all he needs, shelter, distraction, maybe, just something. But his magic is distracted, too, panicking, just rushing through his body as if trying to run away when it's obviously impossible. Not useful. Almost out of control. It's there, battering the edges of his existence, very much present in every fiber of his being, and completely useless. If he lets go of it, it will attack Arthur, might even kill him, and that can't happen. Not again. But more importantly, not to Arthur.

He needs to think, but there is just pain. His first coherent thought is about how useless and stupid it is that he doesn't know how use his magic to heal himself later on. And then, _I can't beat him, but I can get away_. So he screams for help because there are neighbours, and maybe someone will hear. He tries to get up and kick Arthur away, but Arthur's stronger, and he shoves Merlin back onto the floor with feeling. The glass makes it harder to move, harder to do anything, and it's absolutely _everywhere_ , it almost feels like that's what he's breathing, too; and his hands and arms are bleeding, he hits his head, falls on his knees, and Arthur slaps him. Merlin, Merlin, fuck you Merlin, I love you, Merlin, Merlin, what the _fuck_. Merlin isn't sure what Arthur is saying, and it's likely that Arthur doesn't know either, and he realises that this is _extremely bad_ and that he needs to get out _right now_.

So he closes his eyes, takes the next kick - and another - without a flinch. The pain is starting to turn into a dull throbbing, even though every new impact still sends him off balance, but he can't think about that, he needs to concentrate. _Please, just this once. I need to get away_. He calms down his magic the best he can, _it's fine, it's just the two of us_ , takes a deep breath, and hopes that Arthur is so fucked up right now that he won't notice, _no room to be subtle now_ , and raises his hand. He opens his eyes and knows that Arthur can see them flash golden, before the impact of the magic sends him tumbling backwards.

 _Oh God let him be fine._

Merlin gets up, ignoring the brief blackening in his eyes, and the wave of nausea that hits him. He bites his lip in agony when he turns the doorhandle and slips out before Arthur has the time to even wonder what's hit him. And without the faintest idea on how he looks, Merlin stumbles down the stairs. He's out on the darkening street in what feels like an eternity, but is actually almost no time at all. His only thought is that Gwaine lives only three streets away, and that Arthur doesn't know that. The distance feels like a fucking marathon to him right now.

Merlin has no idea how he manages to get to Gwaine's. He rings the doorbell and remembers that Gwaine might not even be home, and that he should probably have checked, and _oh God what if he isn't home_. His phone is, of course, in the bag he left at his place, so there's not much he could've done about it, but he can't help but panic. He almost gives up on everything that's good and pure during the thirty painfully long seconds that it takes for the door to open.

It's Elyan.

"Oh, my God."

Merlin frowns. "That bad?"

Elyan just stares. Merlin closes his eyes and fights back another wave of nausea.

"Please, can I come in? I can't go home."

***

It's an ordinary Tuesday night. Gwaine's out of milk, bread and tea (like he always is). On his way home from Tesco he remembers that he should've bought yoghurt as well, but he's too tired (which means lazy) to turn back, so he just goes home. Other than that, he's in a fairly decent mood for no particular reason at all. He's been to the gym earlier that day, and it always makes him feel good. He's planning on spending the night watching TV and cooking something hideously unhealtly and deep-fried. Probably having a furious wank in the shower. Going to bed early. Or staying up late, moping.

What he doesn't expect when he turns the key in the lock, whistling, is Merlin, sitting on the sofa, white as a sheet, blood everywhere, bruised, tears in his clothes, looking like everything that's ever mattered to him has been torn away from him and burnt right there before his eyes.

" _Merlin._ "

Gwaine is _done_ with having his heart broken.

Elyan makes tea. It's how he deals with stressful situations. Gwaine would probably try and think about how he feels about all this, considering he doesn't know really that much about Merlin, but there isn't any room in his mind to be concerned about anything besides Merlin right now. Gwaine sits down next to him, and takes his hand, only to have Merlin flinch away from the touch in pain. He's not quite looking at Gwaine, and the expression on his face is horribly unreadable.

"Ems," he mutters, "what happened?"

Merlin shrugs and closes his eyes. "Arthur," he says quietly. "I was fucking stupid."

Gwaine bites his lip and tries very hard not to cry, not to scream, not to run out and find Arthur and beat him, _skin him_.

"Talk to me," he says instead, carefully wrapping an arm around Merlin, who leans his forehead against Gwaine's shoulder, takes a deep breath, and starts talking.

He talks until he's breathless, and as far as Gwaine can tell, he's told as much as he's ever going to. Not everything, never everything; but enough. Gwaine holds Merlin, strokes his hair, wipes the blood off his hands and face, gives him clean clothes and tries his hardest not to cry. Merlin doesn't want to go to the hospital, and Gwaine reluctantly promises him that he doesn't need to, not tonight. Merlin is in shock, or mourning, or something a bit like that, and he's absolutely terrified that Arthur might find him there. He says things that make Gwaine want to chop Arthur's arms off with an axe that he'd aquire for the occasion; things like _I can't blame Arthur, because I was stupid and arrogant and I lied to him_ , and _I love him, I really do, and I don't ever want to leave him_. Gwaine grits his teeth, gives Merlin pain meds and takes him to bed.

Merlin wants to get drunk, but Gwaine says no.

They both lie awake for hours, side to side, listening to each other breathe, pretending to be asleep.

***

Arthur wakes up to an empty flat. He carefully gets up, feeling for any serious injuries. He's pretty sure there aren't any. Merlin isn't there. Arthur is pretty sure that Merlin should be there. Instead, there is blood and shattered glass in the hall. Arthur can't quite remember what's happened. He remembers fear, hatred, desperate love, a weird and potentially dangerous tumble of emotions. He's been crying, and there has been wine, and car keys. And Merlin, a golden flash in his eyes, arm outstretched, slumped against the wall, but looking like some kind of god, just pure power in everything he is, lives and breathes, and for a second Arthur wonders how he's ever been able to miss it, since it's everything about him, and then he's thrown backwards by something powerful and irresistible that he can't see. Merlin, fear in his eyes, Merlin telling him to listen, Merlin telling him not to drive, Merlin dodging a heavy glass vase, Merlin falling to the ground, horror-struck, looking every bit like Arthur had sworn he would never see him again. Merlin...

Oh, fuck no. Merlin. Where the fuck is Merlin.

Arthur grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels, and takes a long sip. He needs alcohol in his bloods so badly right now, it's not even real. He takes his coat and storms out the door, not even bothering to check if he has his keys. He has Merlin's, though, they're burning a hole in his pocket. He still feels a bit light-headed, but he's ignoring it quite effectively.

When he gets to Merlin's flat, his bottle is half empty. Merlin isn't there. His bag is, and in it, Merlin's phone and keys - and a white jar full of pills. Arthur frowns and takes a closer look. _For anxiety issues and sleep problems_. Shit. How long has Merlin been taking these?

He slumps on the sofa, holding the jar in his hand, staring at it like it holds any answer he might need. Maybe, if he waits, Merlin comes home. He has to, at some point. Maybe he's got spare keys. Or maybe something that's so powerful, it can send Arthur flying across the room like he weighs nothing and knock him out, can open a sodding door. He will wait. Merlin will come. Has to.

Every hour seems longer than the last one. Sleep won't come.

***

Merlin wakes up to himself in Gwaine's bed. It must be morning. He's not quite sure how he's ended up where he is. He blinks a few times and takes a deep breath, but when he tries to move, the pain hits him, and everything that happened last night comes flooding back. The sensation is almost suffocating, and it drives Merlin to his feet, although he's hurting so much he isn't quite sure how he's managed to get to Gwaine's at all last night. _Arthur_ , is his first thought, _where is Arthur, how is he, what's happened to him_.

The panic pushes him through the pain. He's out the door before Gwaine wakes up.

When he gets to Arthur's flat, breathing heavily, he finds it empty. He leans against the wall, eyes burning, trying to catch his breath, trying not to think about the pounding ache in his muscles, the fact that there's still some dried-up blood in his hair. He decides to go and check his own flat. Maybe Arthur's been looking for him.

He's nearly crying when he gets there.

***

Merlin finds Arthur in his own bathroom, slumped under the shower, fully clothed, slack fingers holding onto an empty bottle of Jack. The jar that used to contain Merlin's sleeping pills lays on the floor, discarded, and so painfully empty that it makes Merlin's blood stop. The shock settles in his stomach and becomes simple, blind, gnawing horror.

"Arthur."

"Merlin," he says, and his voice is small, scared, choked, full of horror. "What's happening? I can't breathe."

"What did you do? No. Arthur, _no_." He's never been so scared in his life. He can't move, he can't think, and he just falls down on his knees next to Arthur and grabs his hand (it's scarily cold, and the chill spreads all the way down to Merlin's toes).

"I was just tired, Merlin," Arthur slurs, "I just wanted to sleep for a bit."

His eyes close and the next thing Merlin realises through his panic is that Arthur isn't breathing, and Merlin can't find a pulse because his hands are shaking. He slaps Arthur, twice, but nothing happens. He tries to reach his magic, but can't - _oh God, no, not now_ \- its presence locked behind a stern wall of horror, and he can't reach it, the only thing that ever came naturally to him, to help, to protect, like breathing; the only thing he was ever really good at, the one thing that made him special, and right now, right fucking now that he needs it more than ever it just _isn't there_.

Gasping for air, Merlin digs through Arthur's pockets, and finds his phone. He can't stop his hands from shaking, and he drops it twice before he can manage dialling 999.

"My friend," he gasps when he finally hears someone speak after what feels like an eternity but probably is just a few seconds, "my boyfriend - he's dying. And I can't help him."

They tell him to resuscitate, but he can't. He's still got deep, painful cuts and tiny shards of glass in his hands. Every second, he's nearly fainting. He can't even save a breath for himself. Merlin knows they won't make it in time.

"Fuck you, Arthur," he whispers to the lifeless body in his arms. "Fuck you. You can't just leave me like this."

Waiting is just walls falling, heavy breaths, darkness. Pain. Agony. On a scale from one to ten, this is ten, and nothing else compares. _This can't be a game anymore._

"You can stop now, you've won, okay?"

He presses his forehead against Arthur's warm chest. He can't feel a heartbeat. His words turn into pleas and then prayers and then just sobbing, heavy breaths, trying not to pass out. Trying not to go mad.

"You can't do this to me."

When they come to take Arthur, Merlin can't stop shaking. When they take him away, away from his arms, Merlin realises he's crying for his mother. He can't breathe. He still can't breathe.

For a second, the world is broken glass in a pool of red, and then everything goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics: The Hoosiers - Everything Goes Dark
> 
> This was it. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
